


Lucky You, Huh?

by TheBirbiest



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bringing us the gays we DESERVED, Couldn't just let my boys go, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forever living in blissful ignorance, I am Queen Cheese, M/M, Qrow swears a lot, So here we be, Soft Love, The title is so cheesy but ah, Watch your eyes kiddies, ha ha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBirbiest/pseuds/TheBirbiest
Summary: A FairGame AU with Clover as a cop and Qrow as a drunk.First impressions don't always go as planned. For Qrow Branwen, the local drunk, this is just how it goes. He doesn't have many friends and he likes it that way. More booze to drink and less people to lecture him when he finds himself behind bars for the night. On one such night, however, he finds himself face-to-face with an incredibly attractive individual. One that he knows will forget him by morning. The very same that will throw his number out, wash his hands, and never even think of him again.Unfortunately (or fortunately, if you read the fine print), Clover Ebi is a simple man. Give the guy a phone number and a cute drunk, and it's a match made in goddamn heaven.
Relationships: Fair Game - Relationship, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, fairgame - Relationship
Comments: 100
Kudos: 317





	1. First Impressions 1.0

“Here, here… _heeeere._ Cute, right?”

A hand slips through the bars of his cell, waving a wallet lazily through the air. He leans against them heavily, a sigh escaping him as he presses his pounding forehead against the cold iron.

“Your nieces, right?”

Another hand, across from the man in the cell, reaches forward and takes the open wallet. He reminds himself to pick up the change that fell on the floor later; teal green eyes lifting to focus on the pictures spilling free. Luckily, he was capable of catching all of them - his attention drawn to the smiling faces of two young girls (the drunk’s nieces?) and their uncle (the drunk?).

“Yeah, man. Cutest-- cutest in _all_ of Remnant. Ya got any nieces?”

“Nope. No siblings.”

“Lucky.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A long, heavy sigh spills from the man within the cell. He teeters where he stands, head lolling to the side as he mutters a slurred, incoherent sentence. A loud groan follows, a hand pressing to the side of his head. His other, still dangling _‘on the other side’,_ twitches with an irritation that always follows drunken nights like these. An anger that wishes to rise, reprimand him, but remains subdued until morning.

Where even _was he?_ The last thing he remembered was decking some asshole in the face, watching him go down, and then suddenly he was here. In a cell. In jail? 

_Tai would be here soon, then._

Dude always bailed him out.

Unlucky bastard.

This wasn’t how this night was supposed to turn out, which meant when Tai _did_ get here, he’d be pissed as hell. Keep it together while the _real_ asshole in front of him gave his brother-in-law some papers to sign, unlocked the cell, and booted them both out the front door, but the second they were in the car--

_He shuddered at the thought._

He’d be listening to lectures and life lessons all the way home. All the way up the stairs, in his room, in his goddamn **dreams.** Tai was notorious for shit like that. Even when all he did was send the girls out bike riding without some proper helmets. _He_ didn’t need a helmet when he was a kid. He took off, snuck some beers with a couple of friends, rode back home, and called it a night. What did Tai expect from him? A model citizen? A fucking nanny?

He hired the wrong guy then.

“How old are they?”

“Hah?”

_Oh, shit._ The asshole. **The attractive one.**

“Uhhhhh…” He pauses for a solid minute, brows furrowing together as the alcohol clouded his thoughts. He rolled his head against the bars, grumbling under his breath and lifting crimson orbs up to the _prim and proper_ policeman in front of him.

“Rubes...she’s gotta-- I-I dunno, man. Fifteen? Or somethin’. Got a birthday comin’ up though.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah. Uh...Yang...damn she’s big, ain’t she?”

“Is she?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tall. Fierce. Just like her mom, ah...seventeen?”

“Birthday coming up?”

“Nah-- wait… _naaaaah.”_

A chuckle leaves his _‘captor.’_ He doesn’t see what’s so funny, but he ain’t gonna complain. So long as the guy quits asking him questions and lets him wrestle with what the fuck is going on inside his head. He swears he hears slamming. Big, heavy feet stomping their way toward him. Fuck, was he about to die? Did the bar-fight-guy chase him here? Were they looking for revenge?

He lifts his heavy head, a smile spreading sloppily across his face.

“Man of the hour!”

It’s a shout. He _knows_ he’s shouting and he sees the recoil of both surprise and disappointment on his brother’s face. A snicker bubbles free, intertwines itself with a cough, and twists violently into a laugh _reserved_ for intoxication. His body leans against the bars, daring to quit on him and seek relief now that Tai was here.

“Gods, Qrow...” He hears the blonde mutter.

“Mr. Xiao Long, I take it?” The sexy one, but don’t tell him cause he already knows it. Waste of breath, really.

“Y-Yeah...that’s me. Did they ah-- they didn’t press any charges, did they?”

“No, sir. I just need you to sign these--”

_“Hey,”_ The ‘prisoner’ interjects, his eyes on the two men in front of him. Well, more specifically, on _one_ of the men.

Shit he really _was_ attractive wasn’t he? Even his damn voice. The ‘prisoner’ just couldn’t get enough of it...so why the hell was he interrupting him?

“After that, I can escort you both--”

_**“HEY.”**_

**“Qrow.”** Tai turns toward him, brows stitched together in a fury that he isn’t sure he recognizes. Whatever, doesn’t matter to him. He’s not the one he wants to talk to.

“It’s fine, sir. You finish the paperwork, and I’ll keep your brother-in-law properly entertained.”

“You don’t--”

“It’s fine. Really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

There’s an awkward pause. The two individuals exchange glances. The policeman offers a smile of reassurance, but it does little to ease the blonde’s bad mood. His response comes in the form of a frustrated sigh as his head turns back to the papers. The opposite party strides over to the jail cell, admiring the one dubbed _Qrow._

“You called?”

_Gods._ His fucking **voice.** The way his lips move so perfectly, the smug tilt to each corner perfectly accentuating his rigid jawlines. His eyes are _piercing_ green and Qrow wants nothing more than to **drown in them.**

“I, what? No, no, my phone… _oh.”_

He looks down haphazardly, pulling his hand into the cell and lowering his other to pat at his chest, his pockets, his _ass_ (real slow and sexy like, eyes never leaving the man in front of him - hoping to give him a show before getting booped out of here). When it becomes _painfully_ obvious that the only reaction he’s going to pull from the police officer is a single, amused raise of his eyebrow, the lanky man slouches back against the bars of the cell.

“I need a pen.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah and...and paper.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you those, sir. But I--”

“Yeah. Yeah, you write it. Keep it. It’s my number, yeah? It’s--”

**“Qrow.”**

Red eyes slide away from the piece of eye candy and move over to his brother (an equal amount of eye candy - but we won’t tell him that, he’s had his fill). He waves a hand dismissively and grumbles out, “C’mon, man. Yer no fun n’ymore.”

Tai rolls his eyes, stepping back over to the jail cell and handing the man in uniform a small stack of papers. He shakes his head solemnly, the disappointment sinking into Qrow’s stomach so violently, he’s sure he’s going to be sick.

A given, really, but sooner than expected.

“Just give ‘im my number. Aight?”

“I’m not--”

“Oh. You already gave me that.”

The _very-attractive-speaking-officer_ reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. Flipping it open and turning it toward the ‘prisoner,’ he asks with a wide, shiny, unforgettable smile, “This one, right?”

“Yeah,” a goofy, wide grin spreads along Qrow’s lips. His imperfect, chapped lips. “Yeah, that’s the one. Call me. Cool?”

Another laugh (absolutely **gorgeous)** rumbles from the chest of the policeman. He steps forward to unlock the cell and after many complaints from the man within, many more attempts to get him properly outside and _in_ the car without face-planting the sidewalk, Qrow finds himself humming aloud to the tune on the radio. Tai, always one for lectures and life lessons, remains perfectly quiet - even when his drunk, slouched, brother-in-law pipes up about the girls. His only response, each and every time, is a single shake of his head and a very soft, defeated mumble.

_“Where were you today?_ I trusted you.”

Well… _that_ was his **first** mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Thank you SO much for the love and support that you've all given this fic. <3 It's seriously been /such/ an incredible time and I just cannot express enough how much it all means to me. I hope to continue bringing my best and delivering all of the good, gay fluff to the best of my ability!!
> 
> If you have a Tumblr, too, I'd like to give a HUGE shout-out to @saenda for creating such INCREDIBLY beautiful art for the fic!! Please go check it out and gush with me because like-- AHHHH??
> 
> [Click Me!](https://saenda.tumblr.com/post/190599076149/this-is-somewhat-based-off-of-the-birbiest-birbs)


	2. You Have My Word.

He looked awful.

Bags under his eyes, bloodshot eyes, paler-than-normal features; it all perfectly complemented the taste of bile in his mouth. It was a state of being he was used to. A type of normalcy that followed him from his early twenties. Everyone around him knew better than to try and ‘change him.’ Some tried, but in the end, they all gave up. Turned their backs on him and recognized what Qrow already knew; he was a lost cause.

Tai Xiao Long, however, the idiot unlucky enough to marry Qrow’s sister (and then, later on, wisen up and _divorce her_ after she proved herself noncommittal to their ‘happy little family’), was the only exception to the people in his life. He was willing to remain family, to call Qrow his brother, even _after_ the ugly ending to his marriage, and he even went so far as to give him a place to live. A place to call home.

He wanted to include him in the life of his two daughters. He wanted what was best for him, in all regards, and stood by him even when his drinking habits tipped him over the edge. Even when he was found buried beneath the snow in their front yard, completely intoxicated, while the girls slept soundly inside; completely unaware that their uncle was out of commission. Thankfully nothing happened and Tai found him before he killed himself, but the lectures were endless after that.

_This time,_ however, was different. _**This time**_ he was in trouble. _Really_ in trouble. 

Sighing deeply, dull, red orbs drifting down to the sink, he mulled over the many different escape routes in the house. If he snuck out the window of his bedroom, he could probably make it to a nearby hotel. Crash there for a week (or two) and...what would that say to the girls? To Tai? To his _family?_ He could lather the escape in lies? Claim that he was _desperately_ needed for a business trip in regards to work and didn’t have time to say goodbye.

Another sigh; frustration digging itself **deep.**

If he wanted to fix this...then he had to _face it._ Running was what his sister did. Qrow Branwen didn’t **run,** he simply… _procrastinated._

A loud, completely unattractive groan rolled over his lips and after a brief glare aimed at his mirrored reflection, he exited the bathroom. Dragging his feet down the stairs and feeling the familiar twist in his gut wasn’t at all reassuring. The house was too quiet. The stress levels were practically _fermenting_ within the air itself. Every step closer to the living room felt like a step closer to _death,_ and he was nearly tempted to sprint back up the stairs like a child hoping to avoid a scolding. Which… _he was._

“Qrow.”

The voice made him freeze, eyes lifting immediately to the blonde sitting in a nearby armchair. A dull anxiety came to life in his veins as, once again, his first thought was to run. Avoid anything and everything that was about to be said. His _second thought_ reminded him that if he took so much as two steps toward the door, Tai would probably tackle him to the ground. Rightfully so, too.

“I’m not mad.” The voice came again, blue eyes lifting to meet red.

_Yet._ Qrow groaned internally, shuffling forward and collapsing into another armchair. He exhaled loudly, running a hand through his graying hair and contemplating where to start. What to say. Maybe if he was lucky--

“Where were you yesterday?”

Nope. Unlucky. Very, very unlucky.

“I uh…” The words die in his throat, eyes dropping to the floor and away from the sharp gaze. “I think it was pretty obvious. Behind bars.”

This time it was Tai’s turn to sigh with a stored frustration waiting _years_ to make itself known. He gives the man a shake of his head and leans forward; forearms resting on his knees, eyes lowered to slits.

“I _asked you_ to pick up the girls. I was _out of town,_ **Qrow.** You reassured me that you could do this. That you could just...hold yourself together long enough to **do this.”**

He felt the nausea creeping back in, hands clasping back together and eyes focused on the interlocked digits. 

“Instead, I get a call from the school a half hour _after_ their ride should be there, asking me where he is. Then I get _another_ call about the dumbass getting himself arrested.”

Qrow gnaws on his lower lip, fingers squeezing one another. He knows he’s right. Knows that he has every right to be upset. To sit here and berate him for his behavior. For his lack of reliability. But he hated it just the same. Hated _himself._

Tai could lecture and yell and scream, but none of it would sink. He’d feel nauseous for a day or two, avoid alcohol like the plague, but after one trip on the curb, he’d return back to old habits. There was no denying it. No way of avoiding it. This was simply who he was.

“I just…” His voice breaks, a hand lifting to rub at his eye. He heaves out a long, tired sigh, his attention moving to the coffee table between them. “I want what’s best for the girls.”

There’s a long, awkward silence. Both of them hold their gaze elsewhere, the words falling heavy on their shoulders. Neither one is ready to openly admit what they both know. Discuss what their next steps forward are going to be. If doing what was best for the girls meant not having Qrow in their lives, who was he to judge? Who was he to deny them that right?

His stomach twisted. Words bubbled against his teeth. Crimson orbs lifted as he breathed out, “I uh...are the girls--”

“They’re mad, Qrow.”

He clenches his teeth together, nodding slowly.

“I was an hour away, it took me about twice as long to get through the traffic and pick them up, and they missed their game. They’re not just upset, they’re disappointed. They’re confused and they’re hurt and I…”

Qrow forces himself to keep his eyes on the man breaking in front of him. The quivering of his lips, the hand that reaches up (repeatedly) to wipe at his eyes, the opposite hand clenching and unclenching around his knee - it was painful, but he watched him. Absorbed each and every lilt to his voice, the betrayal hanging on every syllable.

Everything that was happening, all of the despair that rolled in his chest, was a direct cause of Qrow’s actions. Tai gave him a place to stay, a family to believe and trust in, and his response was to squander that away at the end of a bottle. To continuously cave to an agony that sank its teeth into his heart and refused to let go. 

How was he supposed to fix this? Ask for advice? Hope that _something_ would stick and he could finally let go? Finally feel _human?_

“Look, I...I get it,” Tai is speaking again, leaning back into his chair and running a hand through blonde, disheveled locks. “And I’ve been patient with you while you tried to-- to work everything out, Qrow.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes dropping back to the carpet as he prepared himself for what was coming next. For the words that confirmed what he already knew. 

“But...you’re all I have left.”

He inhales sharply, lifting his head. His blood runs cold at just how deeply he’s hurt the other. How broken the man sounds when Qrow has done nothing but become another variable in that equation. How _sad_ it was that the two men have found themselves in a similar position in their lives, and he’s done nothing but drown himself in misery. Ignored the hand stretched out to him, time and time again, in fear that he may not hold on tight enough.

“Please,” the words fall heavy in the room, Tai’s gaze never leaving the other as a fresh layer of tears burn behind his eyes. “Don’t make me have to move on from you too.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even know where to begin. He could promise Tai a lot of things. He could sit here and hope to reassure him that not a single drop of alcohol would touch his tongue again, but how long would it take him to fall back on that? If he wasn’t confident in his ability to quit drinking, then how could he hope to do the same for his brother? For his _family?_

He could promise the man that he would behave. Avoid any skirmishes and _always_ arrive on time for anything he needed him for, but he was a _Branwen._ He was genetically coded to disappoint those that he loved. There wasn’t a force strong enough to push him in the direction of becoming a better person. A _reliable_ person. A person worth investing yourself into.

Tai was a fool, but a fool that loved him. That saw something in him when he couldn’t. 

That was worth hanging onto and believing in… _wasn’t it?_

“...Alright.”

He speaks for the first time that afternoon, his own voice surprising him. Hoarse and just as broken as the other’s.

“You have my word.”

His brother nods. Slow. Thoughtful.

He inhales slowly, another scrub of his eyes given before a small, warm smile lifts his lips. He seems to contemplate whatever words dance in his mind or flutter along his tongue, before settling back into the chair with a sigh. His hand runs through his hair, falling down to his neck. 

“Good…”

Qrow imitates his brother; inhaling, leaning back, and exhaling. Running his hands down his face, his thoughts drift to _‘what if’s_ and _‘what now’s’_ before Tai speaks up again.

“If you’re really willing to try, I may have pulled some strings for you.”

“Huh?”

He lifts a quizzical brow, biting down on the _real_ question he wishes to ask. Something along the lines of _‘how the hell did you find the cure for depression and why haven’t you told me sooner?’_

The blonde, however, retains his smile while he reaches into his pocket. Pulling out his cellphone and sliding a finger along the screen, he replies nonchalantly, “A friend of mine is willing to hire you at their coffee shop. I told them you’d be interested.”

“Ugh, Tai--”

_“And_ that you’d be willing to start as early as tomorrow.”

The glare aimed at the smiling, ‘more-concentrated-on-his-phone’ blonde sitting across from him was _deadly._ He didn’t have anything against coffee shops, but he **did** have something against people. Customers. Women and men alike whining and crying about having their coffees made just right, or else they’d lose all grips on their sanity and be forced to shout about it via social media.

He _really_ wasn’t in the mood to find himself going viral one day for not offering someone a WacDonald’s cheeseburger when they were, so clearly, the Remnant Coffee Shop serving **exclusively** _Remnant Coffee._

Groaning so loudly it hurt, he sank deeper into his chair and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

“I think I’m gonna be sick…”

“Oh, come on. It’s not _that_ bad. I mean...you get free coffee?”

Tai, always the optimist when hopes were needed, _was a fool._

Three weeks later, _thrust_ into the craziness that was a coffee shop, the man found himself neck deep in cappuccinos, macchiatos, lattes, and unearthing the forgotten secrets that taught him what the _fuck_ made them all so different from one another. Espresso shot, milk, steamed milk. They were all one in the same and every customer that said otherwise earned themselves a new spot on his **Shit List.**

Even while sitting on break, his own coffee in hand (black - like his soul), he couldn’t avoid the gritting of teeth that came with every fresh whine elicited from the lips of a new customer. 

Still though, he had to give Tai some credit. With the craziness of the new job and the man’s assistance in making amends with his nieces, his road to sobriety didn’t seem _quite_ as daunting.

The only real daunting task, currently, was deciding whether or not to answer his phone. 

“Who the fuck…?” He turned to observe the counter, wondering if one of his co-workers somehow didn’t see the brooding, lanky figure sitting at one of the many tables, and was hoping to call him back in for assistance. He didn’t recognize the number, so it couldn’t be Tai or the girls, and it _definitely_ wasn’t his manager (he’d dubbed her contact name, appropriately, as Sexy Buttocks after their first meeting) - so who the hell could it be?

He made it a habit not to answer phone calls he didn’t recognize, but today had already drained all forms of sanity from him, so why not cave to a little more craziness?

Another brief glance is given to his co-workers, all of which seem much to busy to be pulling a prank of some sort, and his finger slides across the screen; the phone pressed to his ear in seconds.

“...Go away.” 

“Ouch. Bad day?”

He recognizes the voice, but can’t seem to find a face or a name. His face scrunches with confusion, red eyes glaring at his ceramic cup as he pokes at the handle.

“You could say that…”

“I haven’t seen you around lately. Now I understand why.”

Another bout of confusion slams into him. The hairs on his skin rise as he sits up in his chair. He _knows_ this voice, but from where? Was he really going to be made to embarrass himself? Admit that he didn’t remember whatever _‘fuck boi’_ expected him to call back after a good time?

“I uh…”

“Sorry it took me so long to give you a call. Things got a little bit hectic at the station.”

_The station?_

Okay, now he was _sure_ someone was messing with him. Before long, the voice on the other end would have some crazy story about aliens and probing or some shit and he’d have to figure out who put him up to it, and who he needed to kill **first.**

“I suppose it was a little selfish to hope you’d come around again. You look better in an apron than you do handcuffs.”

His head snapped up. Eyes danced around the room, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on, and trying to decide whether or not he’d made some kinky choices with everyone using their cellphones. Much to his dismay, only _one_ individual had a phone pressed to their ear, and he knew damn well he wouldn’t have tapped **that.**

“Straight ahead.”

He looks up at the wide, tall, rectangular window stretching from wall to wall. The streets outside are busy with people, all too engulfed in conversation with friends or the phones pressed to their ears, but only one man stands still - teal green orbs locked on Qrow and _only_ Qrow. 

He lifts a single hand, waving it through the air gently, and smiles bright. It’s enough to leave Qrow breathless as he realizes, with shocking clarity, he _does_ know who’s calling him. Who’s standing right in front of him.

_The very attractive police officer from three week’s past._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I am just getting SPOILED every which way in regards to this fic!!  
> Again, thank you all so, so much!! Your comments/kudos have seriously meant the WORLD to me and I am just so freaking happy to see that the story is being enjoyed by so many people! 
> 
> @saenda has gifted me with ANOTHER drawing and I am seriously just SO OVER THE MOON. This is so much more than I could have ever asked for, and I will never be able to thank you all enough!! Thank you so so much!!
> 
> Click Me for Arts!!


	3. First Impressions 2.0

Words fail him. _Everything_ fails him. 

From the moment he lifted his head and locked eyes with the _jaw-droppingly_ handsome man, his mind emptied. His tongue tied itself together and forbade him from saying another word. The palm of his hands were covered in a thin layer of sweat. His lips trembled with the _desire_ to move. To speak up and say _something_ that might sound...alluring? Interesting? 

“Can I come in?”

_Dammit._

All that time _wasted_ trying to push past whatever amounts of stupidity possessed him, and the Handsome One took the opportunity to speak _first._

He didn’t know whether to be grateful or embarrassed and thus, made a feeble attempt to recover from such an obvious loss.

“The door’s right there, ain’t it?”

The _laugh_ that carries through the phone, the very same that draws a wide, carefree smile upon the man’s face, crinkles the corners of his eyes and scrunches his nose, is like no other sound he’s heard before. It raises immediate bumps of pleasure along his arm. His heart skips a beat. His lips tremble into a smile; a brief, awkward, _tense_ chuckle stumbling over them. Before he has time to make up for it, the Handsome One speaks. 

**Again.**  


“I’ll be right in, then.”

He’s moving. He’s stepping over to the door. He’s pulling the door _open._

Oh Gods. _**He’s in the cafe.**_ Literal _feet_ away from him. 

He’s coming closer. He’s...getting in line?

“Don’t worry, I’m coming over.”

The voice in his ear startles him. He’s embarrassed at just how much he jumps, nearly spilling his coffee. Swift reflexes keep the ceramic cup _away_ from the table’s edge, but there’s no chance of recovering from such an obvious reaction.

Gods, how long was he staring?

With a pouty scowl, he turns away from the idiot standing in line. Ignores the temptation that _begs him_ to gaze upon such a gorgeous body **more.** He wanted him to come closer. Wanted to _smell_ the cologne he wore and save it to memory. Watch the way his arms _flexed_ with muscles Qrow wished to feel _against him._

He _really_ needs to get himself laid if he's **this** put-out by _one_ guy. The very same that he _still_ hasn’t responded to. 

“...I wasn’t _worried.”_

The laugh is intoxicating; his stomach flip-flopping as he resists the urge to look up. To lock eyes with the teal orbs that, he’s sure, are looking right at him. Drinking him in. _Appreciating him._

“You _looked_ worried.”

Qrow furrows his brow; an unfamiliar heat rising to his cheeks. He huffs aloud, snapping into the phone, “I’m hangin’ up now.”

“Alright. See you in a bit~!”

It’s the _confidence_ that really gets him. The _air_ to his tone that _implies_ what Qrow already knows. _Ensures him,_ without so much as a lift of his head, that the man _winked at him._ There was an unspoken understanding that, for whatever reason he simply can’t comprehend, the Handsome One _will_ sit with him. For how long, to engage in _what_ kind of conversation, he isn’t sure. All he knows is that by the time they’re done, _he’ll want to fuck him._

“Is this seat taken?”

_Again_ with the surprises. He doesn’t jump nearly as high as the first time, but he does whirl around to face the other.

Confronted with the sudden realization at just _how close_ they were, Qrow is left absolutely dumbfounded. His mouth opens, ready to provide some sort of response, but the words die on his tongue. His eyes trail along the exposed arms, the v-neck that dips just a bit too low, the muscled abs pushing back against the fabric-- he raises his eyes back to the man's face frantically. His perfect, clean-shaven, _charming_ face. 

It’s only _after_ one of the thick, brunette brows lift that Qrow remembers how to breathe. How to _speak._

“...Does it _look_ taken?”

The Handsome One isn’t the least bit offended; his smile growing alongside the chuckle bubbling over his lips. 

“A fair point. Then you won’t mind if _I_ take it, will you?”

“Guess not.”

He pokes at his mug, attempts to swallow down whatever pride he has left, and casts crimson orbs to the policeman’s own drink. Snorting aloud, he watches the man sit - an elegant gesture, complete with the folding of one ankle over one knee - and leans his head against a closed fist.

“Never pegged you for the _'fancy coffee'_ kinda guy.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

The Handsome One is completely unperturbed as he lifts the to-go cup and attempts to press the lid on. It’s a bit of a struggle, seeing as the top of his drink is adorned with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, but he succeeds.

“Dunno. Cause you’re a cop.”

“What kind of coffee do we usually get?”

“Black. Maybe a bit of cream.”

“Ah, well,” the Handsome One lifts the cup to his lips and takes a drink. “...You could say I like mine with a _lot_ of cream.”

Qrow can’t explain it, but he swallows. Hard.

“And sugar,” he adds with a shrug of his shoulders. “The _‘fancy coffee’_ is a good treat after a long day, you know?”

The newly-hired-barista nods slowly, unsure how or why they even got to this point, but knowing full well that he’s enjoying it. There’s just something about the policeman in front of him. The way he carries himself. The way he just seems _so sure_ about everything he’s doing. Everything he’s saying. Even now, as he sits across from Qrow with little to no knowledge about him (other than the fact that he landed himself behind bars a few times), he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter in his side of the conversation. He simply presses on. Possibly even _enjoys_ himself. 

“How about yourself?”

“Huh?”

The Handsome One smirks, cocking his head to the side in a manner that is _entirely_ unfair.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Black.”

“With a little bit of cream?”

He nudges his chin toward Qrow’s mug and crimson orbs drop to meet the surface of his bronze-colored coffee. A blush tickles at his cheekbones and hears the man across from him snort with laughter. 

Sighing loudly, he lifts his head and aims a glare at him. It does little to stop the laughing, but it makes him feel… _a little_ better. Kind of.

“How did you even _remember me_ anyway? Can’t be all the dancin’ and singin’ talents I have when I’m drunk, can it?”

Another laugh, one that Qrow meets with a small smile of his own.

“No, no. It was _definitely_ your drunk flirting. I’ve never had someone give me their contact information so fast. I mean, I had only _just_ put the cuffs on you before you were belting out the numbers.”

_That’s ‘cause you’re so fucking handsome._

The heat at his cheeks burns with an uncontrollable fury, the sulking man pushing himself to stand. He reaches for his mug, eyes glancing at a nearby clock. He flicks his gaze over to his co-workers, their faces lit up as they watch this train wreck of a conversation occur; absolutely _enthralled_ in seeing the reactions elicited from their typically somber ‘friend.’

“Anyway, ah...thanks for stoppin’ in. As you can see, I’m tryin’ to _avoid_ gettin’ locked back up, so, if you’re lucky, you won’t be seein’ me any time soon.”

“Oh?” 

There’s a pause now, the Handsome One eyeing the other like it’s his first time seeing color. Like there isn’t anything (or anyone) else in this room worth looking at. It sends a shiver down his spine; the raven-haired man gripping the back of the chair a bit tighter. 

In one, smooth movement, the police officer’s lips lift into a sultry, confident smile. He pushes himself to stand as well, exhaling rather dramatically and reaching for his cup. 

“In that case...I hope I’m _incredibly_ unlucky.”

The air vacates his lungs. He’s left staring; mouth hung ajar and coffee cup falling unceremoniously from his hand. It clatters to the ground loudly, shattering across the floor and sending shards and coffee in every direction imaginable. Qrow bends down quickly, muttering a quick _‘shit’_ beneath his breath, and slams his forehead against the Handsome One’s. 

They both pull away simultaneously, a hand reaching up to rub at the spot that’s already turning red. Another one of the baristas rushes over just as the men stumble into fits of laughter, their hands darting out to try and grab the ceramic pieces. Their fingers brush against one another, an electric spark like _nothing_ either one has ever felt before rushes into their veins. Sinks into their bones. They flounder for just a brief moment, before Qrow’s co-worker mentions something about ‘getting back to work.’

Right. He was working. At a job. In a coffee shop. Where he would, most definitely, be seeing the policeman every single day.

But that-- _that wasn't important._

Standing up, both men step toward the door, and the lankier of the two is the first to speak. Or at least...he _tries_ to speak. 

“So, ah--”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The brunette smiles delightfully, lifting his cup as he adds, “The coffee’s nice, but the view is nicer.”

Habitually, Qrow flicks his gaze to the nearby window, not _really_ understanding what’s so great about looking at city streets filled with people, but not daring to fight the guy on it. The words sink in only _after_ the Handsome One winks at him and his stomach flutters with excitement. With anticipation of what _could be._

“I’ll see you around, Qrow.”

“Yeah...see you.”

He watches him leave. Lets his eyes drift to an ass that’s so fine, he’s _sure_ it makes every passerby jealous. What he wouldn’t give to claim it as his own some day.

Exhaling deeply and turning back to the counter, he glowers at the two individuals staring back at him; bright-eyed and faces aglow. The one responsible for cleaning up _his_ mess and attempting to prod him back to work is named Clarissa; a young, sweet girl with blonde, curly locks of hair hanging just below her ears. She wasn’t _shy_ about her love for tits, and her unabashed confidence bled into her easygoing attitude. 

Standing beside her is a young boy with black hair pulled into a manbun, thick glasses adorning his pudgy features, and a mole that Qrow _swore_ looked just like a star snuggled against his nose. His name was nothing but a blur in the face of the man appropriately nicknaming him _‘Starlight;’_ both for his mole and his consistent dedication to acting like he was on a stage at all times. 

Both sets of eyes are upon him; questions and insinuations buried beneath their gazes.

Rolling his eyes, the man steps back around the counter and mutters, _“Don’t.”_

“Come on,” Clarissa groans, hands on her hips as she glares at her companion. “Just...at least tell us his _name.”_

It’s a simple demand. A _reasonable_ demand, given that the man promised to return and Qrow was _certain_ he’d wind up becoming a regular, but in that moment, the somber barista made a startling, horrifying realization in the form of a single question.

_"Shit..._ what the fuck **is** his name?"


	4. Lucky You, Huh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know what I did, don't @ me

“Just call him.”

“I _can’t.”_

“Sure, you can! You’ve got his number. Just dial it--”

“And _what,_ Tai? Start the conversation with _hey, I’m the drunk dumbass you **might** be into, but if not, don’t read too much into that, and by the way, **what the fuck is your name?** Kay, thanks, bye.”_

A laugh spills over the lips of a _frustratingly_ upbeat blonde. The very same blonde that Qrow has the unfortunate (read as _fortunate)_ privilege of calling _brother._

Several pairs of wandering eyes drift over to the two men, some brows raising with silent questions and concerns, before a sharp look from crimson orbs turn them away. 

Really, he didn’t understand what was so funny about this situation. Qrow spent most, if not _all,_ of his shift stressing over the return of this _very attractive_ policeman. Clarissa and Starlight grilled him _endlessly_ for his negligence and volunteered to call for him, but he denied their requests **vehemently.** Calling the guy, himself, and asking for his name was a hell of a lot less embarrassing than having a duo of thirsty, college-aged brats doing it for him. What would the guy think of him _then?_

Recognizing that either way he lost, he decided to share his sorrows with the one man he trusted most - Taiyang Xiao Long. Although, it _had_ taken him a total of three days to finally break down and seek advice, and Qrow was beginning to regret having asked at all.

“Look,” he breathes, shifting his eyes to the rows of cans propped on the shelves. “All I’m askin’ is if you remember his name. So...do you or not?”

“Uhmm…”

He pauses for too long and Qrow rolls his eyes, groaning disdainfully. You trust a guy to remember the name of the guy you’d like to fuck, and _this_ was the thanks you got after making him drive two hours out of his way to get your drunk ass. 

Useless bastard.

“I dunno, man. Like...Officer Ebony or something. Eddy, maybe?”

_“Eddy?”_

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Tai. The guy does _not_ look like a fucking _Eddy.”_

“How would you know? He could be an Eddy.”

“I’ve fucked a _lot_ of ‘Eddy’s.’ Trust me - he ain’t one of ‘em.”

Tai hums with understanding, nodding his head slowly, but his attention has already moved on to the can of Spaghetti-Oh-O’s. His eyes narrow as he reads the label, mulling over something or other, before he tosses it into the cart. Pushing it forward, he sighs dramatically and turns his attention back to his brother.

“Well, hey. Maybe just get drunk and punch another guy out? Might get lucky.”

“I’m s’posed to be goin’ _‘sober,’_ remember? And I don’t ever get that lucky...”

Qrow sinks into his jacket; a denim torso with grey fabric taking up the arms and hood. He wore it unbuttoned, revealing the black, graphic t-shirt underneath that read: _Funcle: Like a Dad But Cooler._ The grey matched his beanie, and the black matched his jeans and boots. 

He was at least lucky enough to have a day off, but that meant more time focused on his idiocy in regards to the Handsome One. 

The early morning was spent debating on calling him, but every thought was cast aside upon remembering that he didn’t _know_ **what the fuck** _his name was._ Then he toyed with the idea of simply texting him and trying to wring the name from him as subtly as possible, but those ideas, too, were shot down when the man reiterated to himself that he was _not_ subtle. Not in the least.

Thus, the later morning was spent showering, awkwardly stepping into the kitchen in hopes of avoiding his family, pouring himself a bowl of cereal, and finding himself trapped in the same room with _Tai._ The guy noticed something was ‘up’ the moment Qrow came home from work that day, and spent every hour of every day after prodding him for answers. He wasn’t _typically_ the kind of guy interested in making people expose each and every one of their secrets, but when his initial prodding led to an _incredibly_ unprecedented display of _bashfulness_ from **his** brother, Tai simply couldn’t resist. 

Thankfully, he was rewarded tenfold when the sulking, oversized child rambled endlessly about what happened for the entire car ride. Entering the store resulted in the man asking questions of desperation and Tai returning them with some well deserved humor.

“Did he ever come back?”

“Not _yet,_ but he will.”

“How do you know?”

“I just--”

Qrow throws his hands into the air, an exasperated sigh spilling from his lips as he runs them down his face. He turns to eye the man beside him, sapphire meeting crimson. 

_“Trust me,_ he’ll be back. He had that-- _look_ to him.”

Tai raises a brow, turning down into another aisle and shifting his gaze to the rows of fresh vegetables.

“What _‘look?’”_

“Y’know. That kinda, like--”

He fumbles for the words, a heat pressing against his cheeks.

What if he was wrong? What if all of this was nothing more than some kind of fantasy he crafted in his touch-starved mind? What if he just _really_ needed to get laid, and he was willing to find chances in anyone hot enough to fuck?

The Handsome One _was_ hot enough to fuck, but did that really mean _**he**_ wanted to? Maybe he was just...a _really_ nice guy and he spoke like that to everyone. _Winked_ at everyone like that. 

Shaking his head with frustration, he buried his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Pink highlighted his face.

“Nevermind.”

He heard Tai scoff and shifted his gaze over to some nearby carrots.

“Qrow, do you--?”

“Oh, hey! Fancy meeting you here.”

The voice, smooth as butter and as intoxicating as any siren on _any_ sea, pulls his gaze away from the orange health-sticks and over to the unexpected _heartthrob._

Dressed in a dark green, sleeveless and hooded shirt, a nice pair of tight, black sweatpants _(Gods look at the muscles on those legs),_ and a pair of white sneakers, the Handsome One was every bit as stunning as Qrow remembered him. Did he _know_ how unfair it was to leave such gorgeous arms exposed? To have his hands propped on his hips and allow the muscles to flex _just-so?_

A snicker sounds off to the side of him and it’s only _then_ that Qrow realizes he’s staring; slackjaw and eyes wide. He clears his throat awkwardly, catching the gaze of the eyes that are _so_ damn captivating. 

“H-Hey.”

The Handsome One returns his weak greeting with a wide smile, eyes narrowing in a way that Qrow reads as: _‘Bend over right now so we can get on with it.’_

“Hey, man, good to see you again.”

Tai interrupts the ‘moment’ with a loud greeting of his own, Qrow inhaling sharply and flicking his eyes over to the blonde. Without hesitation, he’s stepping forward and extending a hand out to the Handsome One - a hand that the charismatic, taller man accepts happily. 

“Good to see you too, Xiao Long. You look to be in better spirits.”

“Yeah, well,” Tai tosses Qrow a look over his shoulder. “We all are these days.”

“That’s good to hear. Your daughters too then?”

“Oh yeah, they’re _great!_ Yang, my oldest, just landed herself a spot on the local hockey team, and we’re all pretty excited to see her first game.”

_Oh._

_Oh no._

Qrow took a hesitant step forward; panic igniting in his chest and his palms starting to sweat.

“Oh, congratulations! If she’s anything like her uncle,” the Handsome One points his chin at the only ‘uncle’ among them (at least, to Qrow’s knowledge). “She’ll really excel at it.”

The man in question purses his lips into a pout, returning the look given with a glare. A glare that _deepens_ when both of the men start laughing. Tai’s he’s familiar with, but the Handsome One has a laugh that he wants to hear on repeat. The kind that arouses butterflies in his stomach and sends them fluttering against his ribcage and into his ears.

“Man, _seriously._ They both have a temper that is _easily_ backed up with their fists and I _still_ haven’t decided whether that’s a good or bad thing.”

Another laugh rolls between the two and the ‘odd-one-out’ is left rolling his eyes. He catches the quick glance of teal green orbs and immediately drops crimson to the floor. He clenches his hands into fists and attempts to quiet the pounding in his chest.

“So, you’re ah--”

 _“Clover._ Clover Ebi.”

For a moment, Qrow is left breathless. _Stunned_ at the very _sound_ of a name so perfect. It was a name that _always_ belonged to this man. A name that no other could wear as confidently as he could. A name that entered his ears and stalled in his mind; taking residence there and _refusing_ to leave.

He fucking _told_ Tai his name wasn’t **Eddy.**

“Right, right.”

But he hears the _knowing_ tone of his brother and his moment of blissful romanticising is cut to an immediate end. He lifts his head quickly, taking another step forward and reaching a hand out.

“Hey--”

“Well, _Clover,_ the game is this Friday. You wanna tag along?”

_What?_

“Nothin’ special, just me, the girls, _and Qrow.”_

_**What?** _

“I’d love to, but unfortunately, I’ll have to decline. I’ll be at work for most of the day.”

_Good._

“Awe, bummer. It starts about six thirty, seven o’clock - still doesn’t work for you?”

_...What?_

“Hm. No, actually, that’s perfect. I’ll be out by mid-afternoon. Maybe I could swing by the cafe and pick Qrow up?”

All of the air leaves his lungs as suddenly, both azure blue and teal green eyes are on him. He stands frozen, one hand still hanging in the air awkwardly and red burning at his cheekbones. His fingers flex in the air, before his hand pulls back and clenches into a fist at his side. He flicks crimson orbs from Tai to _Clover._

“Uh…”

He repeats the action; lips _trying_ to form words, but his tongue twisting in defiance. The fingers in the pocket of his jacket fiddle around impatiently - rubbing and clenching around one another.

“I uh…”

He looks back at Tai, feeling a sudden and _immediate_ surge of annoyance rise at the goddamn _look_ on his face. The smug, wide, shiny smile that **knows** exactly what’s happening.

_“...I get done at four.”_

“Oh?”

Clover speaks up, his gaze never leaving Qrow. The soft, confident, _powerful_ gaze that sends shivers of anticipation racing along the man’s spine.

“I should be out around three, which leaves me _plenty_ of time to stop in for a little _pick-me-up._ Lucky you, huh?” 

The wink that follows nearly sends him over the edge and the man finds himself wondering what it’s like to breathe. How it’s done. Is there a method to it? Is he _supposed_ to breathe? Was it _required?_

Another snicker from Tai loosens the hold on his lungs. He exhales deeply and _loudly;_ a quick clearing of his throat performed in a feeble attempt to cover it up.

“Alright, man, well-- I won’t keep you.”

The blonde holds out a hand for the sexy brunette and is rewarded _(again)_ with a friendly handshake.

“I’ll have Qrow text you a little later and we’ll work out the details?”

“Sure, that sounds perfect. It was nice to see you again, Xiao Long, and _Qrow?”_

He hadn’t imagined that, had he? The way he said his name. The way it _tilted_ with the _perfect_ amount of lust that would drive anyone straight to his bed? Straight to his _body?_ Begging for layers to be shed. Begging for--

“Y-Yeah?”

_Gods, he was pathetic._

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, alright?”

Clover’s smile pulls at the edges. He winks a _second time_ and has a hard time returning to the blonde beside him.

Qrow’s own answer never leaves his lips. Instead, he stands like an absolute fool with his eyes _trained_ on the individual that he’s _sure_ wants to fuck him just as badly as he does. He swallows - his mouth suddenly much too dry and his throat suddenly much too _tight._

Tai, thankfully, closes the conversation for him and sends the man _(the sexy **beast** known as **Clover** )_ off with a clap to his back. Qrow doesn’t even _try_ to hide the way his eyes trail down to the man’s ass, watching it go until he rounds the corner and disappears from his line of sight.

Inhaling slowly, he mulls over the events that transpired. The _commitment_ that he’s just signed himself up for. The _name_ that he finally received and now couldn’t stop thinking about. Couldn’t stop _repeating._

He wanted to feel it on his tongue. Wanted to feel it caress his lips as it sauntered out into the open air on hot, breathy _moans._

“Got you a date this, Friday~”

The voice creeps into his ear and jolts him out of whatever sort of erotic daydream he nearly _drowned in._ With a loud huff, he aims a sharp, angry glare at the man beside him - ready to punch his fist through the rows of shiny teeth smiling back at him. 

“With one Mr. Clover Ebi.”

 _“Not_ Eddy.”

“Nope. Not Eddy.”

A moment of silence passes between them, a laugh coiling in Tai’s chest and bubbling against his ribcage. His torso twitches and stutters as he uses every ounce of his strength to keep the sound _restrained._

Qrow’s facial expression sags, the fist at his side already preparing for what was coming next. Annoyance stitches his brows together and pulls his lips into a deep frown.

_“Lucky you, huh?”_

The fist meets with his brother’s arm. An explosion of laughter erupts into the air. _All_ eyes are on them. Qrow takes the opportunity to sulk away from the man hunched over his shopping cart, cheeks wet with tears, and tremors rattling every inch of his body.

Lucky or not, _the Handsome One_ was removed from his contacts and replaced with **one** _Mr. Clover Ebi._

The attractive policeman.

The surprise coffee shop visitor.

The mysterious illusion of all things _desirable._

And now, Qrow’s Friday date.

_What could possibly go wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to express my thanks to everyone that has read and/or is still reading this fic, and has taken the time to leave behind a comment or a kudos. You ALL have made this possible and have given so much of your love and support and I am just so ridiculously overjoyed. It's been such a hard couple of years, and I almost gave up writing entirely last year, and was fueled by /SPITE/ to write some gay boys that deserve nothing but the world together and just-- seeing the reactions and the happiness that this fic has fueled because of that seriously makes me so emotional. Genuinely, thank you all so so SO much for making this possible. For giving me the strength to carry on and for being so patient in regards to chapters being released. Thank you for the comments and the kudos and the kind words and for just being so wonderfully you. 
> 
> I hope the fic continues to make you all happy and it brings you some comfort and maybe even a few laughs~!
> 
> Thank you!! <3


	5. Best Day Ever

The withdrawals were always the same. Initially, they were little more than an itch. A gentle prodding at the back of his mind, reminding him that he didn’t have his flask in hand. That a glass of scotch would do him _wonders_ while cringing through whatever movie was on. That downing whatever alcoholic substance he could find would help quiet the raging thoughts in his head.

It was easier to ignore that way. Easier to chastise himself for allowing such thoughts to enter his thinking space, and be done with it. Roll his eyes, call himself stupid, _and be done with it._

Now, however, nearly a month into his sobriety, the thoughts were louder. More desperate. More _angry._ They shouted and screamed and twisted themselves into body tremors. Bled from his pores in the form of sweat. Everything was _wrong_ and _uncomfortable._

He wanted a drink. He **needed** a drink.

Even _that_ was wrong.

With a loud, exasperated groan, he threw the blankets from his body and sat up. Scrubbing at his eyes, he blinked blearily into the dark of his room. The alarm clock on the bedside table read three forty-five, which meant it was too early to get up, but too late to consider getting back to sleep. 

Another, perhaps even _louder_ groan spills from his lips. In minutes, he’s out of bed and pressing his feet against the cold, wooden floor. A shiver runs along his spine before he finds the energy to rise and drag himself out the door. 

His room had the unfortunate circumstance of being placed on the same level of the house, the same _hallway_ even, as both Yang and Ruby’s room; both girls expected to be at school in the morning. Thus, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him, he padded down the hall on light feet. Grabbing hold of the stair railing, he made an _attempt_ to step down the stairs, but missed one of them and nearly tumbled onto his face. Thankfully, a quick tug and some frantic, **loud** flailing managed to save him. Standing in the very awkward position of his _clumsy foot_ resting on the ground floor, his other still on a stair, and _both hands_ grabbing onto the railing, he remained still. **Waited** for someone to emerge from their room and scold him for making so much noise. 

Realizing that he’d been lucky enough to _avoid_ such a turn of events, he breathed a sigh of relief and continued on through the house. 

Entering the kitchen proved to be less of a hassle (aside from the flick of the light switch that resulted in near-accidental-blindness), and he was more thankful than he liked to admit that Tai, having always supported him whenever he could, remained firm on banning alcohol from the house. It made it easier for the man to bite back on the disappointment that arose upon finding nothing but juice and milk. 

Opting for the choice of orange juice, he set it onto the counter and reached into the cupboard for a glass. Pulling it free, he set that down too and reached out for the container holding his midnight drinking pleasures, only to watch it fall unceremoniously from his trembling hands and spill across the kitchen floor.

“Are you fucking kidding me, right now?”

Glaring **powerfully** at the drink and its very obvious signs of **betrayal,** the man steps over to a drawer and withdraws a rag. Picking up the irritatingly lighter carton, he slams it onto the counter and bends down to wipe away its spilled contents. It doesn’t take him too much time, and he isn’t certain it’s a very good job (in fact he _knows_ it isn’t a good job and Tai will bitch at him **endlessly** come morning) but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he feels ready to shed his own skin and drive a knife into his skull.

Standing back up and tossing the rag into the sink, he shakes his head with irritation before _finally_ pouring himself a glass of orange juice; the carton returned very, very, **very** slowly.

“Hey, Uncle Qrow.”

The shout that bursts from his lips is too loud; humiliation and shame grabbing at the back of his neck. He’s thankful, at least, that the glass remains in his hand, but when he turns to face his _oldest_ niece, her beaming expression of delight is enough to drag his lips into a grimace.

“What are you doin’ up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He scoffs and retorts haughtily, "M'always up. What's _your_ excuse?" 

She steps further into the room, opening the door of the fridge and to remove a bottle of water. Shrugging lazily, she nudges the door closed and faces her uncle.

“I dunno. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nervous about the game?”

“Nah. I’m more nervous for the _other team._ They’re not ready for a Xiao Long **beating!”**

This earns his niece a laugh, the man rolling his eyes and leaning back against the counter. He takes a drink, watching the teenager slump down into a chair at the table. He’d never admit it openly, but he was grateful for her company right now. Pleased with a distraction away from the twisted thoughts in his head. 

“How about you, Uncle Qrow?”

“Me?”

He raises a brow, not deciphering his niece’s smirk until it’s too late.

“You nervous about your date tomorrow?”

“It’s **not** a date.”

His eyes drop immediately to his drink, embarrassment warming in his chest. Really, at this point, he’s just ready to start killing his family. One by one. Smother a pillow against their face while they sleep and be done with it. Drown out all their teasing and prodding and silly little songs about who was kissing who in what tree--

“C’mon, it’s _totally_ a date. Dad really hooked you up, **and** I hear he’s a _looker.”_

He refuses to comment. His lips purse tightly together in an effort to **stop** whatever words might want to spring free. The sentences that center themselves around Clover’s muscled arms, his broad shoulders and toned abdomen, his thighs and calves that could _squeeze--_

“See?”

Qrow blinks slowly, lifting crimson orbs up to meet the familiar lilac. She leans back in her chair with a long sigh, shaking her head with a _‘tut-tut’_ bouncing from her tongue.

“You’ve got it _bad._ Can’t stop thinking about how hot he is, right?”

“Yang--”

“You can’t fool me, Uncle Qrow. You were _totally_ daydreaming about this _biceratops_ of yours, weren’t you?”

“Do _not--”_

“What are you guys doing?" 

Qrow and Yang lift their heads simultaneously, finding Ruby standing in the entryway. Scrubbing at her eyes and blinking in the light, she focuses her silvery gaze on her sister, then her uncle. 

“We’re talkin’ about Uncle Qrow’s crush.”

Groaning aloud, their uncle pushes away from the counter and shoots a glare over at the blonde. 

“It is _not_ a crush. He’s just a guy that your idiot father invited along to a hockey game, and one that _coincidentally_ owns a car. That’s _it.”_

Despite his tirade of flustered frustration, it’s clear that Yang neither believes him nor feels any less confident in her current topic of discussion. Her smirk grows and a brow raises in a silent question of, _“You sure?”_

Truly, this family was torture. The absolute _worst._

“Oh...well...if it is, it’s okay. I mean, Yang acted the same way with--”

But before his _youngest_ niece can continue, the oldest interjects quickly. 

“Ah, ah, ah! Unnecessary info, Ruby! This is about--”

“No, no, let her speak,” it’s Qrow’s turn to smirk, looking at the (now) pouting teenager with all the relief that comes from avoiding another round of humiliation. “Let’s hear all about Miss _Smooth-As-Butter_ **Yang** and her _expert_ flirting skills.”

“This isn’t--!”

Yang flounders, torn between charging at her sister or denying her uncle’s claims, but it doesn't matter as Ruby presses on regardless.

“Oh man, this one time, she was walking down the hall, playing it cool, but--”

 **“Hey.** What the hell are you all doing?”

All three heads lift, once more, to find Tai looming behind the daughter who nearly jumps out of her skin. The very same that presses a hand against the nearby wall and another to her chest, muttering out a string of incoherent words.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning. You two have school and **you,"** he jabs a finger at Qrow. "Have work.”

“But Dad, we were--!”

**“Yang. Bed. _Now.”_**

She huffs aloud, snatching up her water bottle and rising from the table. Tossing her father a dirty glare, she wraps an arm around her sister and murmurs gently, _“C’mon, Dad’s being a real fart. We can just talk about it in my room.”_

A sentence that their father _doesn’t_ miss as he whips around hurriedly; jabbing a finger at the retreating girls.

“Uh-- hey! _No?_ Separate rooms. I mean it!”

When his daughter responds by blowing a raspberry, he rolls his eyes and shifts his focus back to Qrow. Setting his hands on his hips, blue orbs flick to the drink in his brother’s hand. It was brief, but evident enough that the other knows what he’s thinking. He hears the worries in the tense silence that passes between them. 

“It’s...orange juice,” he lifts the glass, giving it a little shake.

“Yeah. I can see that.”

The father glances at the fridge, then back at Qrow, before stepping toward it. All the while he maintains an air of nonchalance, pushing them into (what he hoped would _sound like)_ a lighthearted conversation. 

“Having trouble sleeping?”

To his brother, however, the question comes across as an accusation. His brows stitch together, irritation pricking at his skin. He watches the blonde man open the fridge, his eyes scouring its contents for that which _isn’t_ there. Even if Qrow _had_ snuck out and bought himself something to drink, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring it home. Nonetheless leave it inside the fridge.

“No, just… _thirsty._ That a problem?”

Tai sighs loudly, standing straight and shutting the door to the fridge. He gives his brother a sharp look before replying, _“No,_ Qrow. I was just...trying to make conversation.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t believe him, but the guilt has already seeped in. It dances right alongside his anxiety and results in the man trailing a finger along the rim of his glass. Crimson orbs have already fallen to his drink; not daring to look at the other. To see the look of distrust that was so rightfully placed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Was it an _actual_ question? One asked for the sake of conversation? Or was it an accusation? A _doubt?_

“Yep.”

A long, awkward silence passes between the men, but it breathes a thousand words. Fills both their minds with a solemn sense of guilt. A twisted thought of _knowledge_ that dares them to question their trust in one another. 

“...Goodnight, Qrow.”

“Night.”

It’s these moments that remind him of what he’s done, who he is, and what he hates **most.**

**| || |||| || |**

“So...it’s a date?”

“Oh for _fuck’s sake,_ it is **not** a date. What is wrong with kids these days?”

“Qrow. _C’mon._ It’s impolite to lie to the gays.”

“It’s _not_ a date. Trust me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“A wise decision.”

The conversation ended at the order of a _very_ complicated ‘coconut milk latte with three pumps of vanilla, two pumps of raspberry, one pump of mocha with a touch of sugar, a splash of milk, whipped cream, and some caramel drizzle to finish.’ However, much to Qrow’s dismay, almost as soon as the steaming to-go cup left his hand and entered that of the customer’s, Starlight was upon him once again.

“Look, what’s your _problem_ anyway? You went all _goo-goo eyes_ on him when he stopped in, aren’t you even a _little bit_ excited?”

“Sure, to see my niece play.”

The older of the two stopped wiping down the counter and shot a glare over at the young man.

“And I did _not_ go all ‘goo-goo eyes.’ I was just… _surprised_ that the guy who _arrested me_ still had my number.”

“Dude, but like-- have you seen _any_ romance movies?”

Qrow groans loudly, rolling his eyes so powerfully he nearly loses them in the back of his skull. Stepping away from the counter, he moves over to the row of espresso machines and removes the portafilter from the far left. Dumping out the wet, ground up beans he shifts to the sink and begins dissecting the head into pieces; running each one under cold water.

“This is how it _always_ happens,” Starlight continued, much to the man’s chagrin. “Mr. McDreamy shows up, flexes them sexy muscles, works his charm, and invites the love interest out on a _date.”_

The younger of the two clicks his tongue and steps closer to his older co-worker, leaning over so they can make eye contact.

 **“Qrow.** You’ve _found_ your McDreamy! He’s got the muscles, he _totally_ nailed the charm, and your brother helped snag you a date with him!”

“It’s not--!”

 _“Dude,_ before you know it, he’s gonna be whiskin’ you away to the fanciest hotel on the block and pounding you **so good** that--!”

“Excuse me.”

Starlight turns to the front counter, eyes the young woman speaking toward him and waves a casual hand at her.

“Yeah, yeah, one sec.” He quickly turns back to Qrow, grabbing at his arm. “You’re gonna be breathless for **literal.** **_days._** I mean...did you _see_ those arms? And that _chest--”_

**“Excuse me.”**

This time, it’s Starlight’s turn to groan; even going so far as to throw his head back in a dramatic fashion before sauntering up to the cash register. 

Qrow, on the other hand, is _unbelievably_ grateful for the absence of his co-worker. Not only for the sake of finishing the task at hand, but also to avoid having to look like some kind of lovesick _idiot_ in front of him. 

**Of course** he’d seen the man’s arms, and _of course_ he’d taken note of every **inch** of his perfectly toned body, but that didn’t mean he needed to consider the man’s _‘Hey I’ll give you a ride’_ a **date.** It didn’t mean the guy was _actually_ interested in him, and Qrow wouldn’t blame him. Wouldn’t even think twice about the guy ultimately telling him that he was not, in fact, _at all_ interested in him and he never would be. **Ever.**

Setting the pieces of the portafilter beside the sink, he uses the front of his apron to dry his hands. He hears Starlight grumbling under his breath beside him, slamming his _own_ portafilter into the espresso machine and preparing a mug beneath it. Rolling his eyes, the eldest barista works his way back to the front, catching a glimpse of the woman waiting for her coffee while tip-tapping away on her cellphone. Occasionally her eyes flick up to Starlight; her awkward irritation _palpable_ in that moment.

Qrow flicks his own eyes up to the clock, pulling off his apron with a long, defeated sigh and tossing it under the counter. He turns to the woman, opening his mouth to say something, when his _incredibly outspoken_ co-worker calls out, “Hey, Qrow!”

“Yeah?”

He turns - perhaps a bit too sharply? too suddenly? too quickly? - and crashes into the _idiot_ he has the unfortunate luck of calling his co-worker. Hot coffee spills across his chest and with a shout and a frantic step back, the ceramic mug crashes to the floor; splitting every which way into several pieces. Starlight, with his hands cupped around his mouth, gasps violently and meets the crimson glare aimed directly at him.

“Oh wow,” their gaze shifts to the woman, the _customer,_ who seems more worried about the pieces of ceramic and her spilled coffee. “That sucks, huh? Does that mean I’ll have to wait longer?”

Qrow huffs through his nose and snaps his head in Starlight’s direction, the college student scurrying back to the espresso machines and preparing another drink. 

“Yeah, lady,” he barks, bending down to grab a rag from beneath the counter and use it to dab at his shirt. “It does.”

An answer that the woman with only two brain cells scoffs at, going back to her phone and mumbling some sort of insult under her breath. Qrow follows her lead, rolling his eyes and bending down to work at the mess only after mumbling, “Dipshit.”

Partway into the clean up, all the pieces tossed into the nearest garbage and the rag stained brown, Starlight re-emerges to deliver the coffee; offering a heartfelt apology and then turning the same toward Qrow.

“I am so, so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, standing up and thrusting the rag into his hands; ignoring the flinch. “Go get a mop.”

“R-Right.”

Watching him go, he runs a hand through his hair and lowers his eyes to his shirt. This morning, it had been a nice white with sleeves extending to his elbows - black cuffs at the ends. Now, it looked like someone’s sick toddler had smeared their shit all over the front of it and left it overnight to dry. Shaking his head with an agitation he couldn’t quite place, he heard the chime of the front door and sulked over to the cash register; preparing for whatever comment the next customer would sling his way. They’d probably make a joke about the coloring, or the scent that was most assuredly wafting from him, or even his lack of a smile (or some other bullshit).

He expected it all. Prepared his best insults and readied himself for the chance to chase someone out with his sharp tongue.

“Hey, Hot Stuff.”

His head lifts _immediately,_ crimson orbs locking onto teal green, and his heart stutters to a stop. A tiny, brief stop, but it steals his breath away regardless. 

“Get it?” The man before him continues, waving an awkward hand toward Qrow’s shirt. “Cause it’s...it’s coffee and it’s usually hot-- are you alright? I’m sorry. I feel like that was a very bad joke.”

Clover.

Fucking. Clover.

_Of course._

Could anything _else_ go wrong today?

“Y-Yeah,” he wheezes out, clearing his throat and turning his pout toward the register. “That was ah-- a _very_ bad joke.”

An awkward pause.

“But yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good… _good._ Uhm...do you...want a coffee?”

Qrow lifts his head, raising a single brow and face twisting with confusion. The man in front of him (tall, handsome, downright irresistible) smiles sheepishly back at him, and the man behind the counter finds just the smallest relief in knowing that he _isn’t_ so perfect after all. 

“I mean,” he continues, shrugging with a small laugh. “You’re already _wearing it,_ so I wasn’t sure if offering to buy you some coffee was still… _appropriate.”_

A smile tugs at the man’s lips, the lines of tension fading from his face as he absorbs the words. Reciprocates the laugh with one of his own. Physical appearances aside, there was something remarkably _attractive_ about the way the man held himself. The way he beamed like a literal ball of sunlight, even while poking fun at Qrow’s sorry state. 

Gliding a finger across the screen in front of him, he lowers his gaze and replies softly, “Yeah, if you’re buyin,’ I’ll grab myself somethin’ _real_ expensive to make up for your shitty joke.”

“I mean, it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“The coffee wasn’t even _hot_ anymore, it was _bad.”_

“That would be true if the coffee was the _only_ thing _hot.”_

Qrow falters, the familiar heat rising to his cheeks and his finger freezing. He clears his throat, ignores the racing thoughts of desire that all scream for Clover, and presses onward; choosing to _ignore_ whatever the man was implying.

“Man, I wish _my_ boyfriend would say cheesy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Qrow whips around, jabbing a finger at his _nosy_ co-worker. “Vanilla latte and a macchiato.”

“But--”

“You owe me, kid. Unless you feel like buyin’ me a new shirt.”

Starlight stomps away, throwing his hands into the air as he cries out, “Ugh, you’re never any fun, Old Man!”

“I thought you finished at four?”

“Yeah well,” he breathes, turning back to his customer/date/not-date and sending the order through. “I got a little wrapped up.”

“Ah. Well, once we grab our coffees should we hit the road?”

 _Gods,_ that’s right. As soon as their coffees arrived, as soon as they were physically in their hands, Qrow would embark on a three hour drive with Clover. He would find himself in a tiny, nowhere-to-go, just-myself-and-the-Handsome-One space where they would be close enough to _touch._ Close enough to hear one another _breathe._ Oh, fuck...he’d be able to _smell his cologne_ and--

“Qrow?”

 _“Yeah!_ He shakes his head lightly, his cheeks _burning_ as he quickly taps the card reader atop the counter. “Y-Yeah, just...swipe or-- whatever. I’m gonna help the idiot out.”

Scurrying away to ‘assist’ his co-worker, he finds that even with all of his meddling, all of his slow-going and attempts to stop the inevitable, in mere _minutes,_ he’s back at the front; coffees in hand. He’s handing one to Clover, nodding numbly at his expressed gratitude, and pulling on his sweatshirt; his date-not-date opting to hold his drink while he did so and returning it with a gentleness that’s damn near intoxicating. Starlight watches them go, waving them out the door, calling out his ‘best wishes’ and ‘good luck with the pounding!’ as they went; people on the street giving both the ‘couple’ and employee strange looks. 

Qrow resorted to tucking himself as far into his sweatshirt as possible, thankful that even if Clover _had_ understood the innuendo, he remained completely unaware of it; pointing him in the right direction of his car. He even went the extra mile and held the door open for him while a very flustered, very _red_ Qrow climbed into the car. 

It wasn’t until the first five minutes of silence into their trip that Clover spoke up again, making the other man jump a little. He hadn’t expected conversation and that thought, alone, buzzed along his skin with anxiety. Was he being cool? Too cool? Should he lean back? Sit up? Hold the coffee? Set it down?

“Oh, that reminds me,” the ticking of the turn signal sounds and the police officer glances at his companion. “Did Tai talk to you about tonight?”

“...Uh...yeah?” But he had the sneaking suspicion they _weren’t_ talking about Yang’s game, and the thought dropped into his stomach like lead. Frantically, he lifts the coffee to his lips and takes a drink.

“Alright, _great._ In that case, I’ll be taking the couch. I won’t hear any complaints either - my mind is set. You can have the bed and--”

The sudden sounds of choking cut the man off; Qrow pressing a hand to his mouth and holding his coffee in the air like that would somehow save him.

“What--” he wheezes between coughs, tears swelling at the corners of his eyes. “Wh-What?!”

Clover blinks. His face is molded into that of concern and confusion, and the result is the continued, worried glances he keeps giving the other.

“The...hotel? Tai said he mentioned it to you. Something about the girls wanting to stay a little longer and go sightseeing?”

Oh.

Oh _no._ Oh _Gods,_ **no.**

This was not happening. This _couldn’t_ be happening? They were going to share a hotel room? Clover and Qrow would be in the same space, with a _bed,_ **together,** all night? **Alone?**

Forget suffocating his family to death, he was going to stitch their mouths shut. Glue their eyes shut. Stuff them _all_ in a box and ship them to the farthest point North and then go into hiding. Change his name. Dye his hair. Live in the forests of Mistral and never return. Never even _think_ about this moment and how **badly** he wanted to punch his brother.

“...He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Must’ve...slipped his mind.”

Play it cool. _Gods,_ play it cool. If the guy found out he was an idiot _now,_ then they’d be one step closer to the inevitable admittance that Clover never liked him all along, and he could **not** handle that right now. Not when all of his thoughts were on seeing the police officer changing. Hearing him in the shower. Listening to him sleep. Did he snore? _Ugh,_ he hoped he didn’t snore. Wait. Did _**he**_ snore?

“If you’re not comfortable with it, we can--”

_“No!”_

Another awkward silence; Clover giving him _a look_ and Qrow left unsure why he shouted so loud. What did _he_ care if he missed this chance? If they saw the game, had their fun, and went home? It didn’t matter that he’d most likely spend the rest of the night daydreaming about what _could have been_ and then waking up with _pounds_ of regret sitting on his chest. 

Fuck, this was complicated.

Why was this so complicated?

“I-I mean...it’s fine. I don’t care.”

Clover laughs, biting on his lower lip. Qrow has never felt so embarrassed, his hand clenching into a fist and pressing against his cheek as he quickly looks back outside. 

“I’m glad. I’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t get the chance to spend more time with you.”

He doesn't return the sentiment. Doesn’t so much as _breathe_ when the charming bastard beside him spoke the words so _effortlessly._ Strung the sentence together with an ease that was **much** too sincere to be real. 

He was teasing him. Poking fun at the man that sat in his car, pouting like a child, cheeks so red they burned, and a heel bouncing up and down _rapidly._

This was moving so fast. First the guy arrested him, then he was calling him and visiting him at work, bumping into him at the grocery store, agreeing to go out with his family, agreeing to _pick him up,_ buying him coffee, and now he _wanted_ to share a hotel room with him? To _‘spend more time with him?’_

If Qrow had been all the wiser, he would have readily admitted that it was, perhaps, progressing _too_ fast. He would spiral and Clover would bear witness to it and leave without another word. Not so much as a single _text._

He wasn’t _meant_ for good times and happy endings. That was how it _always_ went.

“Qrow?”

He must have dozed off; his eyelids lifting and the darkness giving way to a blurred, colored world. He lifts a hand to scrub at his eyes, groaning out a soft, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“We’ve...got a bit of a problem.”

He sits up, muscles tensing as he snaps out of his sleep-induced haze. He finds the man beside him, an apologetic frown on his face, and looks out the windshield at the road. 

_They’re not moving._

“What--”

“It looks like we’ve popped a tire. A tow truck should be here shortly, but...you might want to call Tai.”

Qrow furrows his brows, looking to the man with a rising irritation. A frustration that lay beneath his skin all morning and, _finally,_ found a way out. Found a moment worth latching onto and _exploding_ all around it, throwing him against the **pillars** of anxiety and panic.

“...I don’t think we’ll be leaving for quite some time.”

_And that was how it would **always** go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I would seriously just like to give a HUGE shout-out to those of you that have taken time to leave behind a Kudos and/or a comment. It really, really means the world to me to see so much support going toward this fic! Thank you all for being you! <3
> 
> Apologies for taking so long with this one! Depression is a bitch.  
> As far as everything else, I've just gotta say, Clover is a beast and I love him far too much. I have some pretty big plans in store for the next chapter!


	6. We're Doing Alright

Of course.

Of _**fucking**_ course. 

He didn’t know what he expected. Didn’t know why the words falling out of the man’s mouth struck him so viciously. Either way, whatever the reasoning, Qrow was out of the car with a scowl and anxiety pumping through his veins.

_What would he tell Tai?_ Would he even believe him? The last time something like this happened, he hadn’t shown up at all. What if the tow truck took _hours_ to appear? What if the tire change took several more? Then what would Tai think? What about the girls? 

_“Fuck.”_ He hisses, rolling his eyes violently and slamming the car door behind him. Rounding the vehicle, eyes dropping immediately to the flattened tire (on _his_ side of course) he groans loudly and throws his hands into the air.

_“Great._ **Great.** As if today couldn’t get _any_ worse…”

“Well,” crimson orbs lift to the _incredibly_ handsome and collected individual rounding the other side of the car. “It isn’t so bad. It could be--”

_“Stop.”_

“I--”

_“Trust me._ You **don’t** want to finish that sentence with me around.”

“Mm? What I _want_ is to challenge that statement.”

A silence passes between them, Qrow staring at the man with an expression caught between surprise and irritation. He falters, the words he _felt_ resting on his tongue rolling back into his throat. He swallows them down, flicks his gaze to the sky, and presses onward.

“What...what do you _mean?”_

“I _mean,_ it’s a good thing it isn’t _raining._ So I’d say we got off easy.”

Another brief pause, their eyes locked and the silence stretching awkwardly. The lankier of the two pulls his gaze away first, but catches Clover’s movement; the man’s hand stretching out and turning his palm toward the sky. Qrow feels the embarrassment swelling in his chest. Pressing against his ribcage and begging to turn him into a fool.

“Hm...no rain,” Clover muses, turning his face to the sun. “Still the same, clear skies.”

_For now._

It’s a thought that passes immediately, the man huffing his disapproval with the statement made as he folds his arms across his chest. Crimson orbs rise to find the wellbuilt figure and the smile aimed directly at _himself._ His lips twitch at the corners, fingers drumming against his arm. He’s _nearly_ tempted to believe the man’s lighthearted statement over the thoughts racing in his head, but the reminder that Tai still needed to be informed pushed the calm aside.

“Whatever,” he breathes, digging into his pocket. “Either way, we’re still fucked.”

“Just a little delayed, but I’d say we’re doing alright.”

Teal orbs flick over to meet the sulking man with a tilt of his head.

“Have you eaten today?”

Another roll of crimson eyes as Qrow slides a finger along his phone’s screen and searches his contacts for Tai. 

“No. Does it _matter?”_

“It does if you’re in the mood for some burgers and fries.”

Once again, crimson meets teal. Qrow follows the finger aimed in the other direction and spots the WacDonald’s erected directly across the street from them. He furrows his brows together, turning back to Clover. The man shrugs and leans against the hood of the car.

“Rodney should be here any time. His garage isn’t too far from here and he’s the fastest mechanic I know. We’ll have just enough time to eat before he calls about having the job finished. _Trust me.”_

“You _know_ the guy?”

“I’ve helped him out of a couple of rough spots and in return, he helps _me_ out of some rough spots.”

Of course. Because Clover was _exactly_ that kind of guy. Loved by many because of his ability to bring good into the world. He was a police officer. A man _for_ the people and nothing else. 

Was that what he was doing with Qrow then? Just _“doing his part”_ as a good samaritan? Keeping an eye on the local drunk and ensuring that he kept his nose out of any alcohol?

Maybe Tai set this all up. Made it look like he was trying to win him a hot date, when in actuality, he was just setting him up with a babysitter. With a man he _could_ trust.

Sighing aloud, he shot his glare down to his phone and pressed Tai’s contact number. Lifting the phone to his ear, he murmured a quiet, “Good for you.”

With or without his brother’s influence, it was more apparent to the man (now) that this was nothing more than some pity project. A chance to make the other look good, to add some extra points to his ego. What a _good guy_ he’d be if he could just _fix_ the drunk bastard incapable of doing anything but cause problems. Would the guy win an award? A promotion of some kind? If he returned to his superior and recounted _all_ of the good deeds he performed for the untrustworthy, ungrateful, and unreliable **bastard** known as Qrow Branwen, would the entire fucking town bend over backwards for him?

**Everybody** is out to get **something.**

Even the _seemingly-too-perfect_ **Clover.**

Even _Qrow._

“Hello?”

“H-Hey! Tai, I uh…”

He swallows hard, moving away from the car and choosing to ignore the sounds of the _incredibly_ well-timed tow truck. He can hear Clover already chatting the guy up; all smiles and pleasantries - like a real pro.

“Qrow, hey! What’s up? Enjoying your _one-on-one_ time with the handsome police officer?”

He hears the girls giggling in the background as a groan builds in his throat. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he replies, “Ah-- not so much. We’re gonna be pretty late to the game.”

For a brief moment, the man thinks he’s lost the call. That the girls and their father hung up and called it quits after their jab. But when he hears the sigh travel through the phone, he clenches his jaw tightly. 

_There it is._ The **doubt.** Not just in his brother’s sigh, but in the silence of his nieces. The very same nieces that he abandoned to go out drinking and start a bar fight. He didn’t have any right disputing their emotions. Didn’t deserve to call them out, claim that he was doing his best and they, therefore, couldn’t judge him so quickly. Not after the way he behaved for _far_ too many years.

“Qrow--”

“The car popped a tire. Clover’s got a guy,” he turns to look back at the two men, their laughs doing little to brighten his mood. “That he _knows,_ I guess? But...he’s gonna have the thing fixed as quick as he can, and then we’ll be right there.”

Yang groans loudly, mumbling something under her breath that he doesn’t quite hear, but the _bite_ is enough to make the man wish he could just self-combust and reincarnate as a better person. A better _uncle._ The kind that his family **deserved.**

“...How long?”

“Uhm...” he drops his eyes to the car, then back to the men. Catching Clover’s gaze, he looks away sharply and kicks at a nearby rock. “I-I dunno. Long enough to eat...I guess?”

“To _eat?”_

“Yeah, there’s a, uh--”

“A _what?_ A _bar_ that we’re gonna hear you passed out in?” 

His oldest niece, hushed hurriedly by her father, speaks up once again. The uncle of two feels the crawl of shame burrow itself beneath his skin. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to speak anymore. He wants nothing more than to lay down in the middle of the road and wait for oncoming traffic.

“It’s alright, Uncle Qrow,” Ruby’s voice now, smaller and gentler than her sister’s. “Just...promise us you’ll be there?”

“...As soon as I can be.”

A scoff is heard, Ruby whispering frantically in response. Another sigh rolls from Tai and his voice is the next one to speak up.

“Clover’s still with you?”

He wanted to punch something. Or rather-- some _one._ Whether Tai set up this entire stupid thing for the sake of getting his brother to _finally_ speak with the man he couldn’t stop thinking about didn’t matter anymore. Qrow’s feelings aside, it was becoming more and more apparent that this newcomer in their lives was more trusted than he was, and it didn’t settle right with him. 

_“Yeah,_ Tai,” there’s a bite in his own voice, eyes glaring daggers at the cracked tarmac beneath his feet. “Do you wanna verify my alibi with the police officer?”

_“No, Qrow._ I just...wanted to make sure you were alright. Give us a call when you’re back on the road, alright?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Qrow is the first to hang up, running a hand through his hair and releasing a heavy sigh. He stares at the screen of his phone, asking himself _where_ exactly he fucked up so horribly. _When_ had his family lost their trust? _What,_ out of all of the shitty things he’s ever done, is the exact reason for this moment? For the annoyance and distrust heard in his niece’s voice? For the exhaustion and doubt in his brother’s voice?

_“Qrow?”_

The man jumps at the sudden voice; his phone slipping from his hand and careening to the ground. Another hand (larger than his own) cuts into his field of vision and catches the phone with swift reflexes.

“See?” Comes the voice again, Qrow _already_ feeling the blush rise to his cheeks. “We’re doing pretty alright; all things considered.”

He reaches forward to pluck the phone from the man’s hand, but as his fingers glide against the smooth skin of his palm, his breath hitches. Every gear in his head grinds to a halt, as he _stares_ at the phone that hovers just _millimeters_ above the other’s hand. 

This was all part of the _“good boy”_ act too. Just another trick, another mindgame, to get Qrow in a position that Clover gained from. Brownie points to feed his boss. Egotistical compliments that he could share with another poor soul; proving that he was just _“the good cop.”_ The kind of guy you wanted to help out when his tire blew. The kind of guy you wanted to meet in the grocery store and have a good chat with. The kind of guy you wanted to _be beside_ and **never** look away from.

The very same man that is _too close._

With his chest pressed against his back. One arm wrapped around him, hand hovering protectively beneath the phone, while his other rests gently on Qrow’s other arm. 

_When did they get so close?_

And when the _fuck_ did Qrow lean back against him?

When he made himself known? When he caught the phone? _When his voice caressed his ears?_

“Uh-- th-thanks,” he pulls away quickly; shifting away from the other and clearing his throat loudly (awkwardly). “Did you...was something wrong?”

He keeps his eyes on his phone as he works on returning it to his pocket.

“Oh-- no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just coming over to ask if you were ready to head across the street.”

Qrow lifts his head to the WacDonald’s shining brilliantly in the late afternoon sun. That’s right, he’d been promised food, hadn’t he? Just a quick bite to eat, a call from the mechanic, and they’d be back on the road again. Enclosed in a tiny space together. On their way to a _hotel_ together.

Not that it mattered, when everything was being done for brownie points regardless.

Didn’t matter what sort of beat his heart played whenever Clover was around, the man wasn’t _into him._ He was into whatever he could _get_ from aiding a cynical alcoholic. There was _nothing_ about Qrow worth holding onto. Worth giving a second glance. Someone as perfect as he was must know that too, and felt it necessary to dish out _pity_ for someone so broken.

“...Sure,” he mutters, grimacing powerfully and burying his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. The man beside him laughs; a sincere, warm sound that brings pink to his cheeks. He turns to face him, lips pursed into a pout.

_“What?”_

“Don’t look so glum,” Clover nudges him with his elbow, his smile growing. “We’re doing alright. The sun’s shining and we’re about to grab ourselves one of those kid’s meals. You know, the ones where the pickles and the ketchup look like a smiley face when you lift the bun?”

A small laugh huffs from between his lips.

Another nudge is given as the brunette leans closer to him, adding playfully, “It’s sure to put a smile on that handsome face of yours.”

A weak smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his cheeks burning more powerfully.

_“Alright,”_ he breathes, giving a playful push. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s go...get a smiley face burger or whatever.”

Clover laughs, pulling away and leading them toward the restaurant. Qrow follows beside him, not at all oblivious to the way his mind quiets. The way his anxiety stills and fades into the background. The way his heart skips an extra beat when the teal pair of eyes are on him again, shining brightly and eager to interlock with orbs of crimson. 

If this was all some sort of trick, an egocentric journey to gain some rapid admiration, then Qrow was an absolute fool. 

A fool who was undoubtedly (and unsurprisingly) falling for one, handsome police officer named _Clover._


	7. No Exceptions.

Entering the WacDonald’s proved to be an adventure in and of itself. Qrow discovered (rather quickly, in fact) that _Mr. Perfect Clover_ has never been to such a fine establishment before. The man continuously asked question after question and even _after_ it became (at least, in Qrow’s opinion) painstakingly obvious that he did **not,** in fact, have all the answers, the man took to musing aloud. Pointing to the menu and making some kind of groan-inducing pun that could _easily_ rival Tai’s.

Regardless, the two men shuffled to the front of the line and while one of them remained in high spirits, the other sulked where he stood; sneering at the young, way-too-happy cashier assisting the _also_ way-too-happy man standing beside him.

“Of course, sir,” the cashier smiled as though Clover had just offered him the world and _more._ “I’d be more than happy to ring that in for you. Might I suggest the black pepper fries as a substitute? They’re our hottest item and the taste _can’t_ be beat.”

“Oh...” Clover pauses, Qrow resisting the urge to groan. As if the man _needed_ more to think about when just trying to order fast food. It wasn’t hard, really. Or at least...it _shouldn’t_ be. Everything looked different, but it all tasted the same. A burger was a burger. Chicken (no matter what form it took) was _still_ chicken. **Fries** were still fries. With or without any kind of ‘black pepper.’

“What do you think?” The man shifts to the scowling, lanky man beside him. “You’ve been here before, is it something you’d recommend?”

“I guess,” he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest in a _very_ dignified pout.

“Alright, sure. So we’ll swap those out for both meals and...chocolate shakes for the drinks?”

Teal orbs find crimson just before they flick off to the side, embarrassment stirring to life in the older man’s chest.

“Yeah, sounds great,” he murmurs.

“Good. So with that, I think we’re all set!”

“Great!” The cashier turns toward his crew behind him, calling out in a sing-song voice, “Two kids burgers and a side of black pepper fries; to go!”

Qrow didn’t understand it. Not even a little bit. What did he care about pleasing the other? What did he care about buying them kids meals for the sole purpose of getting burgers with smiley faces and chocolate shakes to indulge in? He just didn’t _understand_ how this benefitted Clover in any way. How this was normal for the man when Qrow was anything _but_ normal. He was pessimistic and miserable, whereas Clover was a literal ball of sunshine. Strong and persuasive in ways that were more soothing than they were anything else. 

So what was the _point_ to all of this? 

Maybe he wanted something to brag about when they met back up with Tai. Maybe he wanted the sense of pride that followed treating the alcoholic to some food. To say (whether to himself or others) that he successfully took care of another poor, helpless fool. 

Or maybe, _perhaps,_ Clover did these things for no reason at all. Maybe this was exactly as it seemed; two dudes grabbing a bite to eat while waiting for the mechanic to phone them about his success.

Thankfully, Clover was less inclined to drag the man into small talk while they waited for their food. Instead, he made some kind of comment about how ‘pleasantly surprised’ he was with the satisfactory customer service. Somehow, Qrow finds this...remarkably fitting. That this tall, muscled man who dedicated his life working in a field meant to protect and please the people around him, would compliment those attempting to do the same. At least, in regards to making others feel happy and comforted when in their presence.

“How about over here?” Clover asks, nudging his chin toward the table pressed against a window. His current companion, the sulking, anxious manchild, shrugs lazily. 

“Sure,” it’s barely even a whisper, but the other man hears it all the same; both bodies sliding down into the neary chairs and releasing a sigh simultaneously.

“It’s...certainly been a day, hasn’t it?”

Crimson orbs roll, Qrow reaching forward to pluck his _kid’s meal_ off the tray. Pulling his milkshake toward him, he quietly wondered what it would take to break the man in front of him. What got under his skin? What made _him_ want to punch someone or lay in the road or wish he could shrivel up into his own body and disappear? What did it take to see him _without_ such a gorgeous, sincere smile?

“That’s one way of puttin’ it,” he replies at last, scowling down at the burger in his hand.

Clover hums in agreement, dipping a fry into some nearby ketchup and aiming verdant orbs at the man sitting across from him. Qrow doesn’t miss the way his smile grows (just an extra centimeter or so) but he dismisses it all the same. The guy was a _real_ good actor and that was all that this was. 

Acting. A facade Just a play put on for the miserable drunk too dumb to realize what was going on.

“Do you eat here often?”

Caught _completely_ off guard, Qrow gives a snort of laughter; lifting a brow as his lips tug into an awkward smile.

“Are you _really_ usin’ _that_ pick-up line?”

Clover shrugs lazily, going for another fry and meeting his gaze.

“I thought it was appropriate.” 

“Sure, for _high schoolers._ C’mon. Gimme somethin’ better than that.”

“If I give you a better one, I’m afraid you’ll never recover.”

“Try me.”

The man grins from ear to ear, Qrow not missing the excitement spreading over his face; the very same that he felt coming to life in his gut. Whatever plans this guy had, whatever he wanted to get out of this, he was afraid he wouldn’t be capable of resisting him any longer. There was just something about Clover, the way he smiled and settled on optimism like it was second nature, that made the cynic wish for nothing else than to drown in him. 

_Was that wrong?_

Taking a bite of his burger, he opts to try and suffocate the question by doing the same to himself, but it blasts in surround sound when Clover begins speaking again; _enticing him_ even further.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever been fishing,” he pauses, raising a single brow. “But I think we should hook up.”

Or...maybe he was just being foolish. _Desperate_ in the face of his growing depression and long-term sobriety.

_“Ugh.”_ He groans, face wrinkling in disgust as the man across from him laughs loudly. In response, he simply swallows his mouthful of food - _hard._

“C’mon, it wasn’t _that_ bad.” Clover protests, but surely he _must_ know how bad it sounds. How bad it _was._

“Gods, if I wanted to be hit on by _Tai_ I would’ve just called him…”

Another laugh bursts from the casually-dressed-police-officer, Qrow falling victim to the sounds as a smile of his own carves itself onto his face. He shakes his head and aims his attentions at his burger, attempting to drive off whatever emotions come to life; tricking him into believing that _any of this_ was real. Despite how _he_ may have felt, how badly he did or did not want Clover, the feelings weren’t mutual. They just… _couldn’t be._

“Alright, fine. Prove me wrong then.”

He looks up with a raised brow, the brunette reaching a hand out for his milkshake.

“Prove me wrong. Give me one of your best pick up lines.”

He sighs inwardly, staring at the other as he takes a sip from his shake; a brow raised in challenge. Swallowing his bite, he mimics the action - reaching for his drink and pulling it close as he responds.

“... _Alright._ Aside from bein’ sexy, what else do you do for a livin’?”

Clover falters briefly, his hand flexing around his cup.

“If you ever find yourself bored,” Qrow continues. “You could come back to my place and ride me.”

“I--”

“Promise it’ll be a good time.”

_“Alright--”_

“Free of charge.”

_**“Qrow.”** _

The ex-drunk shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Listen, _you_ wanted my best.”

Clover sighs heavily, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He clears his throat, a moment of silence passing over them. The embarrassment is _gorgeous_ on the police officer; Qrow _ravishing_ the look as he sips on his milkshake like the innocent man he was. There was nothing wrong with being a bit _blunt._ It was how he snagged _most_ of his dates. No fooling around, no second guessing, just straight to the point. Women, men, it didn’t matter. Whoever caught his eye, whoever caught his _interest,_ were all fair game. 

Although, he _was_ a bit glad to see the reaction from the man sitting across from him; the very same that he, previously, believed was well within the limits of _’perfection.’_ The last time he used that line, he and the woman he engaged in on-again-off-again dating, took him into the closest ‘secluded area’ and reaffirmed that Qrow was, in fact, telling the truth. 

Clover, on the other hand, a man that he knew so little about and who, likewise, knew so little about _him,_ was ill-prepared for the sort of ‘pick up lines’ Qrow was so fond of using. In fact, he would probably be ill-prepared for _everything_ involving his personality. 

So then...was it _wrong_ to recognize the flicker of attraction? Even despite knowing that Clover was too good for him? That Qrow would never amount to _anything_ worthy enough to feel those feelings reciprocated?

“...That’s what you use to take someone on a date?”

Clover looks at him with a look that Qrow can’t quite place, but he feels the twist in his gut.

“All the time,” he replies, shifting his eyes to his food as he reaches for a fry. “If you wanna call fucking in the nearby closet a date.”

“Is that what _you_ call a date?”

“For a guy like me? Sure.” He shrugs, glaring at the handful of fries left and the burger that’s just one bite away from disappearing. He doesn’t know what it is, why the sudden turn in conversation that _he_ initiated sours his stomach, but he can’t deny the sudden self-resentment that stirs to life. 

“Not really good at the whole _‘dating’_ thing.” 

“Really?”

Crimson orbs lift at the tone, face contorting with confusion as his gaze meets Clover’s; the man looking back at him with a stern expression.

“Well, I think that’s a shame.”

Qrow’s expression softens immediately; surprise spreading vividly across his face. The man sitting across from him smiles proudly, confident in the words settling in appropriately. 

_What_ was this? There was no way in hell that this guy, this perfect and bright individual was _really_ suggesting what he _thought_ he was suggesting. **None of this** was real. What he was feeling-- _no._ What he _thought_ was feeling was nothing more than his inner instincts begging for that which he hadn’t received in a _long_ ass time.

He wanted to bend Clover over and pound him senseless. Not sit here and naively believe that there was _potential_ for something more. That there was a _chance_ the guy could actually be into him. _Him._ The drunk that first met him behind bars, barely remembering who he was or where he came from or what life was like beyond the alcohol-induced haze that plagued him. 

_**Stop.** _

A sudden, upbeat tune fills their silence; Qrow blinking slow as Clover reaches into his pocket. A phone is pulled out, but he barely recognizes the action as his appetite fades away, the sudden rush of anxiety crashing against him mercilessly.

“Oh,” Clover speaks, body already lifting from the chair as he offers the man an apologetic smile. “Excuse me.”

_**Stop.** _

He inhales slowly, watching the other leave the table and casting a glance down to the food on his tray. 

Gods, he wanted a drink. No, not just one, but ten, maybe more. He wanted to forget any of this ever happened. Wanted to cast out the hope that made him believe in a _possibility_ for something that **wasn’t** his. For something he would _never_ have because he didn’t **deserve** to have it. 

He didn’t _deserve_ **any** of this.

“Qrow?”

He flinches at the sudden voice, turning his head in its direction and catching sight of Clover.

“The car is ready if you’d like to finish up here? Then we can--”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s just, uh...hurry up and get outta here.”

He sees the flicker of concern on the man’s face, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about _any of this._ None of it mattered. Not in the long run. After all, nothing good ever lasted and for Qrow Branwen, there was very little that lasted long enough for him to believe in.

No exceptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you catch the reference at the beginning, I love you 3000.


	8. Crows Are a Sign of Bad Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to pop in with an update seeing as this poor fic has been left stranded since...April. Apologies! I'm hoping to bust out a pretty good chapter next time and with any luck, it'll be down before the month is over! 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for your continued love and support. Writing this fic has been absolutely surreal, in the way that meeting new people vicariously through it has established a sense of comfort for me. I am very, VERY fortunate to have all of you here, reading and appreciating my work, and I hope to bring you some of the good, gay content in the following chapters.
> 
> Stay tuned. <3

“So. _Qrow.”_

“Oh, for fuck’s--”

“Want to hear a joke about construction?”

_**“No.”** _

“Good...I’m still working on it.”

 **“Clover.** _Please.”_

The laugh wasn’t enough to pull his attention away from glaring daggers at the world passing them by. With a fist pressed heavily against his temple and another curled in his lap, Qrow resisted _every_ urge within him that dared his hand to grab at the steering wheel. 

Maybe if he could just… _steer them into a ditch_ he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Then again, he had the distinct feeling that even in death, Clover would find him and torture him. **Relentlessly.**

“Alright, alright. You tell a joke then.”

“No.”

“Afraid I’ll out-joke you, huh?”

He scoffs aloud at _that_ comment; head turning to raise an annoyed brow. Clover, in turn, shrugs nonchalantly; eyes flicking to meet crimson before he continues speaking.

“I get it. It’s fine.”

Qrow responds to the easygoing, _challenging_ smile with a roll of his eyes and a groan. Returning his gaze to the window, he does not, in fact, challenge the man to a ‘joke-off.’ He didn’t need to win against him to know that his jokes were inherently better. 

It certainly didn’t help that upon leaving their WacDonald’s it’s-not-a-date _date,_ Qrow couldn’t shake the blanket of anxiety that fell over him so readily. His annoyance for the other wasn’t _quite_ as real as he tried to make it out to be, but even then, why did that matter? He _should_ be annoyed. Annoyed that someone like Clover came along and crossed paths with him, only to be dangled in front of his nose. 

“We’re almost there, right?” He inquires, focusing on nothing else but their eventual destination. 

“Yep! About another half hour at most?”

_Good._

Maybe.

Yang sounded rather agitated when he called, and Qrow wasn’t sure _what_ Tai was feeling after the way he snapped at him. Ruby was always quiet about her anger or disappointment, and if he were honest, he wasn’t sure which he preferred. 

If it were up to _him,_ he’d be drunk and lying face down in a ditch somewhere; preferably dead. 

Unfortunately, life had other plans for him, it seemed, and just as soon as the rest of the car ride slipped into silence, did both men find themselves stepping into the large ice rink. It was perfectly timed too, seeing as the quiet lobby suddenly filled with people upon their arrival.

“Great,” Qrow mutters, just as quickly as Clover counters it.

“It’s just halftime,” teal orbs drop to his wristwatch, the police officer smiling at his sullen companion. “We still have two quarters to sit through. That is, unless we find ourselves dealing with overtime.”

Crimson orbs meet teal, as lips purse into a pout. 

_“Great,”_ he repeats with an added layer of sarcasm, but the tone does little to faze the man. Instead, Clover shrugs and gestures toward one of the double doors.

“Want to head inside and see if we can find them?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

_“Uncle Qrow!”_

“Oh. Well--”

Clover’s _obvious_ statement is cut abruptly short by the sounds of a man tackled to the ground. The very same man that wraps his arms around his ‘attacker’ without hesitation; a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“Hey! You guys made it!” Tai’s voice rang out above everyone in the room, his laugh spilling forward. 

Qrow, now on the floor with one, black haired niece hugging him tightly, sighed heavily and pushed himself up; one arm wrapped around her. Rolling his eyes as she squeals happily, nuzzling against his chest, he turns his attention to the blonde man looking down at him.

“Looks like Clover took care of you too, huh~?”

The glare he aimed _powerfully_ at his brother was immediately swept aside as Ruby blurted out loudly, “Did you miss me? _Did you miss me?!”_

A small laugh huffs over his lips, his gaze lowering to the _blinding_ grin she wore proudly. 

“...Nope.”

She responds with a laugh of her own, nuzzling closer against him and pulling a sigh from her uncle; mirrored by her father.

“Qrow, I’m...I’m really glad you’re here.” His expression softens as he extends a hand toward him, a brief glance given to Clover. “And thanks, by the way. I appreciate you guys making it here on time.”

“Oh, it was no trouble,” Clover replies smoothly, setting his hands on his hips. “I’m just sorry we’re here so late.”

“Ah, it’s whatever. Qrow’s always late.”

_“Hey.”_

Pulled to his feet now, Ruby stepping off to the side and bouncing on her heels, Qrow thwos a glare at the _idiot_ speaking.

“I am not _always_ late, okay? This was…”

Tai, staring back at him with a brow raised, awaits the answer with a look of eagerness that the man wants to wipe off his face. With a fist. Repeatedly. 

“Shut up, Tai.”

Hearing the man laugh again was a good sign. It, at the very least, eased the anxieties building in Qrow since the moment this trip started. Helped him understand that every argument he played out in his mind was exactly that; just a fake altercation thought up in his head and nothing more. Whether or not it _could_ become a reality was, perhaps, better left for another time. 

“Anyway, I’m...glad you’re here, Qrow.”

The blonde exchanged a glance with Clover, the man nodding toward him, and it was enough to allow Qrow’s shoulder to sag. 

_There it was._

“Yeah,” he mutters, burying his hands into his pockets. “...Me too.”

As they’re ushered into the ice rink, Ruby tagging at her uncle’s arm and Tai engaging in conversation with their police officer _bud,_ the man can’t help the sudden onslaught of negative thoughts. His brother’s silent acknowledgement was fair. After all, Qrow had never been the trustworthy type and he proved that far too many times with Tai personally. Consistently crushing what little faith the man had in him with a drink here and a lie there. Leaving the girls stranded while their father was out of town was, perhaps, the final straw broken across his back, and while Qrow knew that _he_ was to blame for that, he couldn’t ignore the way his gut twisted. The way everything within him crawled with the acknowledgement that he was only here ‘on time’ because of _Clover._

Had that been the plan all along?

Was the ‘date’ that Tai set up just an added reassurance? To ensure that the man had a proper babysitter and would thus, make it to the game and establish _some_ level of trust with his family? Some level of _responsibility?_

Despite how it made the man feel, he couldn’t deny that it _worked._

And perhaps it was this that angered him so. 

That made the man crave nothing else but a drink.

Perhaps it was _this_ that pushed the man down the stairs he’d only _just_ started climbing.

And maybe, if he was lucky, his family would never find out that his trip to the 'bathroom' required a buzz.

Then again...if there's anything Qrow has ever known to be true in his life, it's that he was _always_ destined for nothing more than misfortune.


End file.
